A Hard Day's Night
by CSIGurlie07
Summary: The entire village was worried about the coming night. But for Will, the dark time came long before the sun set. Spoilers for Carentan. Formerly titled "Eternal Night"
1. Chapter 1

Most days, Will managed to ignore the fact he was in a giant time bubble.

Some days, he just couldn't.

Because it really wasn't giant. In reality, it was only so many kilometers in diameter, and he could only walk so far before he ran into a wall of kinetic energy that threatened to rip his molecules apart. He was in a goddamn fishbowl; except that his goldfish was swimming too fast for any human or satellite to see.

It was enough to drive him nuts, if he thought too much about it.

So on those days he just couldn't ignore the fact that he hadn't seen a single new face in weeks, and when he got so anxious that if one of them so much as looked at him twice he was ready to rip their heads off, he pulled back.

He ceased interacting, and instead, simply watched. He observed. Focused on something else.

Anything else.

Usually, it was Magnus who bore the brunt of his attention. He never knew if she caught on to his changes in mood, when his efforts to be helpful and productive shifted to sessions of him simply staring.

If she did, she never let on. She simply carried on with her work, single-mindedly striving to break free of the bubble. Ostensibly, their goal was to save the planet from being torn apart, but he wasn't one to lie to himself.

He just wanted to go home.

But regardless of whether she noticed him, Magnus' focus gave him free rein to notice things that actual interaction might have distracted him from. Like the way Magnus looked perpetually exhausted: pale skin, drawn features, and dark circles she could no longer hide beneath carefully applied makeup all belied her trouble sleeping.

Or the way that seeing her barefaced made her seem infinitely more approachable. Even in light of her near obsession with solving the riddle of the dilation field, she seemed more open than she ever had in the Sanctuary. In the absence of modern convenience, she became the every woman, beautiful and natural in her own skin.

But in the growing span of months they remained trapped, she barely rested. Every day she sequestered herself in the bunker, analyzing data or tinkering with what remained of old electronics that hadn't been used in years. Ravi had taken to spending more time with his wife Anna than in the lab, when Magnus failed to make immediate headway.

His focus had long since shifted to making the most of life, whereas Magnus refused to lose sight of the fact that there were only three weeks real-time until the planet was destroyed. She kept working, and when she wasn't in the lab she was in the village, doing what she could to contribute.

More than once, Will wished there was no global crisis. Without the threat of planetary destruction, then they would just be two people stuck in a time bubble on a sort of enforced vacation. Then, maybe, she would be able to relax.

She hadn't been to Capri since he'd come onboard, but he suspected that maybe she was due. Just the past two years alone would have put anyone else over the edge, and while at times Magnus seemed superhuman, he could tell that it had taken its toll.

Being stuck in a quaint little French village with no pressing concerns might have done her some good.

Plus, only a few hours would have passed in the real time—she wouldn't even have to give up a long weekend for it. In Will's opinion, it would have been a win-win situation.

But then again, he had a hard time seeing her sit back to let Kate and Declan come to their rescue. He knew it wasn't a matter of her not trusting them to solve the problem, but… she had some control issues, to say the least.

She called it 'keeping busy'— he called it a mild neurosis.

Today, though, as he stared at her fiddling the guts of a toaster, he didn't see her exhaustion, or the stress that pinched her features. Today, he noticed something new.

"I like that shirt on you."

He spoke without thinking, and it was a long moment before Magnus registered the words. When they did, her brow furrowed, and her hands stilled their tinkering as she turned to regard him with an arched brow.

When he failed to elaborate, or offer anything else to supplement his blurt, she turned her attention back to the toaster thermostat.

"And what prompted that, pray tell?" she queried with a light smirk playing on her lips.

He considered coming back with a smart quip, one that might earn him a full-blown grin, but ultimately thought better of it. It was an honest question—he'd never commented on her wardrobe before, inside the dome or out. In the end, he shrugged.

The shirt in question was nothing special. Donated, dyed a checkered forest green, with cuffs rolled up past her elbows to reveal the long-sleeved black tee underneath… It was battered and well-worn—and completely out of character.

Who would have thought a woman from the 19th century would be able to pull off flannel?

"I don't know," he replied, brushing off his sudden bashfulness. "I guess… it's been a while since I've seen you wear actual color."

Her movements paused ever so briefly. She hadn't expected his answer, but she couldn't dispute it.

If he was hard-pressed, he'd have to say that the last time she wore her typical rich colors had been before Ashley's death. Now, she wore black more often than not—and when it wasn't black it was a color so pale it was almost gray, or a navy so dark it might as well be black.

He wasn't an idiot—he could put two and two together.

She was still mourning. For all the masks she wore for the benefit of others, her clothes were still as dark as her grief.

"I suppose I haven't felt very colorful this past year," she said softly, confirming his suspicions.

He nodded his understanding. "Yeah, I figured as much."

An awkward silence followed, as he lost his drive to drag some kind of personal revelation from her. She continued working on the gadget, but her shoulders remained tight.

Clearly, she expected him to push.

He didn't, though, and it must have unnerved her.

"I still see her," she confessed softly, breaking the tense silence with a low murmur.

Will didn't say anything; he just let her continue. Or not, if she didn't want to.

But she did. "Out of the corner of my eye, I see flashes of her, but then a moment later she's gone again."

"That's not unusual," he told her. It'd been the same for him after his mom died. "Your subconscious is trying—"

"I understand the psychology of it, Will," she bit out sharply. But a moment later she softened, her features blanching when she realized how terse she'd been. She took a careful, deep breath. "It doesn't make it any easier."

"No… it doesn't."

"And at times I hear her voice in my head; making some wisecrack about whichever bureaucrat I'm dealing with, or about our latest 'ghoul'. Even here, in this place…"

Hearing her utter a word from Ashley's irreverent vocabulary sparked more than one memory, and Will's guts twisted with remembrance.

"You're imagining what she'd do if she were trapped here too."

Magnus nodded. "I'm sure she would've snapped even sooner than you did," she said, her right eye winking in his direction, even as his own cheeks flushed at how he'd almost panicked just a few days ago at the thought of dying here. "She'd complain, stalk the perimeter endlessly like a caged tiger until she worked herself into a fury… at least, until she noticed our neighbor Claude down the lane."

Her lips twisted into a smirk, and Will bit back an answering grin. Claude was the classic tall, dark, and handsome, and according to Josie, was the heartthrob of many a village girl.

Ashley would have eaten him alive.

"But the worst of it," she continued, her mirth fading, "is that it may never end."

Will blinked, sensing the sudden shift in tone. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Will, that you put it rather astutely the other day—I may live forever. Especially here, in this damned dilation field. Short of falling off a bloody roof, there'll no death from physical injury waiting for me. I rarely get ill as it is, and I will never be old enough to fall victim to the dark time."

Will didn't say anything, unable to speak through his shock and his own trepidation about the impending three years' night. A moment later she continued without prompting.

"So what does that mean for me? That I spend eternity here, seeing glimpses of my daughter until the end of time, never able to join her?" She quieted suddenly, as though surprised by what she'd let slip.

Will stood frozen, stunned. "Magnus…"

Blue eyes closed, and she took a deep, steadying breath. "You speak of death like it's a curse, Will. But it isn't." Her eyes opened once more, and she met his gaze squarely. "It means that one way or another, you _will_ leave this village."

And she might not. She might actually live to see the end of the world.

"Magnus, I—"

"I don't want platitudes," she interrupted impatiently. "I want you to understand that I have as much at stake here as you do. Perhaps even more."

Her gaze didn't falter for a second, and Will saw a deep, heartfelt honesty spark in her gaze.

"I have no desire to remain trapped here without you, Will," she said softly. For a moment, her hand covered his. "I may have accepted that I will inevitably see you age, but it will not happen this way. I won't let it."

She smiled thinly. "We _will_ make it out of this."

This might be the worst threat they've faced so far, and it may seem impossibly hopeless from where they stood. But even so—he believed her.

God, he believed her.

Maybe because he needed to. Maybe because they'd survived hopeless situations before. But most importantly, there was the fact that she had not lied to him. Not ever.

The knot in his stomach loosened, responding to the assuredness in her voice. But his unease persisted.

The concern remained, but not for himself this time. For her.

"Is that what you're really hoping for?" he asked. "That one day you'll be killed in the line of duty?"

She looked away, but didn't refute it. Her jaw set stubbornly, and he could see she didn't expect him to understand.

"I'm not suicidal, Will," she told him. "My fate may have been chosen without realizing the consequences, but it was a choice I made regardless. I made the vow to embrace whatever the Source Blood had in store for us, and I will bear its burden until I can no longer do so."

Will's relief was fleeting.

"But when death does come for me—if it ever does—I won't fight it."

For a long moment, Will didn't say anything. Apprehension had an icy grip on his chest, even as his ears pounded with anger. Fear for her life and her state of mind mingled with fury at the realization that she regarded her life so dismissively.

He took several deep breaths, keeping himself calm, rational, and objective. Finally, he spoke.

"I'm not going to pretend to know what's best for you here," he began slowly. "I'm not going to judge you for missing Ashley, or for wanting to see her again. And I'm sure as hell not going to try to understand what it's like to have lived as long as you have."

He leaned forward, bracing his hands flat against the worktable. She looked up at him, startled and a little wary, and he held her gaze firmly, unwilling to give an inch.

"But I will tell you that you've done more for this planet than anyone else alive. That the good you do is changing the world even as we speak. And I will tell you that as honored as I am that you chose me to be your protégée, it doesn't mean _shit_ if you're only bringing me in to help you feel better about giving up."

Her cheeks flushed, but whether it was guilt or anger, Will couldn't tell. He didn't care. He pushed away from the table, ready to storm out, but then he turned back, rounding on her with an intensity that surprised both of them.

"And you know what?" he continued. "You _have_ died. Not counting that, you've come terrifyingly close a dozen different times, and that's only since I came to the Sanctuary. And I can tell you first-hand that it's not as easy as you seem to think it is! Easy for you, maybe, but for the rest of us, it's absolute hell! _Jesus_, Magnus…"

His hand raked over his face, banishing away images of sinking submarines and brain-burrowing beetles. Of blood and tears and loss.

"Was our recent execution not enough for you?" he asked, more gently this time. "We did die, Magnus. All of us. It's a testament to how crazy our lives are that we barely thought twice about it."

He regarded her with a keen eye. Her gaze remained fixed on the table, studiously avoiding his gaze. Subdued. Dark.

"You thought twice about it, didn't you?" he asked.

She didn't respond. Didn't move.

"God, Magnus…"

"What do you want me to say, Will?" she countered, her eyes closing.

"That you're not _not_ happy that Ranna revived us would be a good start!"

She turned on him then, feeding off his own rising temper. "And lie? I have never expected anything less than the truth from you, Will! I'd like to think that you had the nerve to hear the same from me!"

Will bit back the retort that threatened to slide off his tongue. He wanted to grip her by the shoulders and shake the sense back into her, but instead rocked back on his heels, buying himself both time and space to calm his temper. He silently counted to ten, reminding himself that he couldn't afford to start a fight this big with her. Not here.

Not now.

Magnus took up the conversation with a dangerously even tone. The fight she'd shown a moment ago had cooled, leaving her eyes an icy gray.

"Yes, we died in Praxis. Yes, it wasn't the first time, and no, it probably won't be the last." Magnus looked down at her hands, which grasped her small screwdriver with a white-knuckled grip. "But this was the first time I was ready for it—maybe even welcomed it."

Will's voice caught in his throat, his eyes burning.

"Yes, Ranna revived me—and there is a part of me that will never forgive her for that."

Her voice broke, suddenly thick. She refused to meet his gaze now, and from the way she was blinking too often, she was fighting back the same tears he was. A thick tension gripped the lab, and Will found it suddenly difficult to breathe past the vise on his lungs.

But it didn't matter—he wouldn't know what to say even if he could find his voice.

He wasn't really surprised. For all his expertise, for all his skills as a profiler and therapist, Helen Magnus had the knack of rendering him speechless down to an art form. He supposed 160 years gave her a bit of an edge on him.

160 years… So much life, in a single woman.

But was it _too_ much life? Was her desire to die just that—a desire to die? Or was it a desire to simply stop living? He'd never considered there to be a distinction between the two before now, but he did now. And now he felt it was achingly important.

Equally vital, he needed to know if these thoughts were due to depression as a result of Ashley's death, or if they were really a sentiment of having seen too much. Lived too long.

Either way, he hoped that he'd be able to help her.

He was startled from his puzzling when Magnus' hands shoved against the table, abandoning her forgotten project to surge to her feet. Her movements were stilted, and he tried not to notice how her fingers shook.

"Anna needs help with lunch," she murmured, brushing past him with a bump of the shoulder. For a brief moment, his senses filled with the scent of her—of raw, handmade soap… and lemons, somehow.

He shoved the observation to the back of his mind. She was moving fast; he was going to lose her if he didn't do something.

"Magnus…"

She didn't stop. She didn't turn. He wasn't even sure she'd heard him— but somehow, he knew she had. But his only answer was the sound of the café door slamming shut, capping off a conversation he never thought he'd have.

One they might never speak of again.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn't chase after her that day.

He didn't seek her out the next.

They saw each other at meals around Anna's table, but they didn't speak. Will was sure Ravi and his wife noticed the tension, but they had the good sense not to mention it.

Will stayed away from the bunker for two days, knowing she wouldn't respond well to him hovering—still, he hated that he worried what she might do if he wasn't there.

She'd told him she wasn't suicidal, but every single one of his instincts screamed for him to not let her out of his sight.

He avoided her for two days, almost as if to spite himself. But he would have been foolish if he thought he could avoid her forever.

On the third day, he found her sitting on the rock wall outside of town. He'd been on his way to walk the edge of the bubble with Josie, taking the usual readings, but he waved her on when he spied the lone figure poised on the dilapidated barrier.

She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl, warding off the constant chill that never changed. Sitting as she was, her posture was as regal as it ever was—but it couldn't hide the wan visage she wore from his sharp gaze.

He hesitated for a moment, worried about how she might not appreciate his presence—but only for a moment. She looked at him briefly when he sat down beside her, before returning her gaze the rolling meadows beyond.

It wasn't their rooftop parapet, but it would do in a pinch.

"I apologize for what I said in the bunker," she said softly.

Will looked at her in surprise. He hadn't expected an apology. He hadn't really expected her to say much anything to him. He wasn't even sure what she was apologizing for—the occasion was so rare, it knocked him off his course.

But a moment later, he realized that her gaze was averted. Studiously so, he noticed, despite the fact she was trying to make it look like she was surveying the landscape. The detachment in her eyes gave him all the clarity he needed.

She was distancing herself, putting up walls which, if left unchallenged, would soon be as solid as the rocks they sat on. She was sorry for having confiding in him in the first place, for letting him in.

She was pulling away.

"Don't you dare."

His voice was hard, and she glanced at him in surprise. She was wary; the flat expression in her eyes hit him hard, but the rock in his gut refused to let him falter for even a second.

"Don't even think about hiding from me," he told her, struggling to keep his voice from cracking. "I might have overreacted, and I may not understand exactly where you're coming from… But I am not going to let you bury this."

She averted her gaze then, her brow furrowing in the slightest of pouts.

"I'm glad you told me," he finished.

Her gaze lowered, darkening at his words. Her hands twitched the blanket higher over her shoulders, before her fingers began to pluck at the fraying edges.

"_I_ am certainly regretting it, however." The admission was brutal in its honesty.

Will winced. "Magnus—"

"Don't lie to me Will. You've been worrying nonstop these past few days, haven't you? Wondering how I might harm myself in your absence?"

He sighed; considering he'd only just been cursing himself for falling into that very trap, he couldn't deny the accusation. "So I might've been concerned—"

She scoffed in both snide victory and derision, and his temper flared reflexively, as did his volume.

"Well, what the hell did you think was going to happen, Magnus? You drop a bomb like that, and then _amscray_ before I even have a chance to wrap my brain around it!"

She didn't answer, her jaw stubborn set against any retort she had brewing inside.

"Do you really want to know what I was thinking when you started saying all that crap?" he demanded.

"That I was depressed, emotionally unstable, a danger to myself—"

"_Wrong_," he cut in. "Dead wrong." He paused, running a hand over his eyes as exhaustion washed over him.

"I wasn't thinking anything, because I was terrified out of my freaking mind."

Her features softened, but she didn't meet his gaze. He pushed on anyways.

"Hearing you talk like that… It scared me, Magnus. And to be honest, I felt blind-sided."

"I didn't mean for—"

"I know. You're my friend, I should've seen it. But I didn't. I knew you were hurting, but… I didn't know you were struggling like this." He bowed his head, and closed his eyes against the guilt stealing over him. "I had no idea, and I should have seen it—"

He was silenced by a warm touch against his arm, and he looked down to find her hand curling around his wrist. She was gentle, and the detachment in her eyes had given way to empathy.

"I should have realized it would be too much for you to handle," she said softly. "It's not fair to you, and it was wrong of me—"

"No, Magnus, it wasn't wrong," he countered brusquely. "And it's not fair to _you_ to ask you keep all that to yourself."

Her gaze lowered, blinking heavily. She looked… tired.

"I know that, in your position, you feel the need to hide things, for the sake of the people working under you. And the fact that you're so personally invested in all of us only puts more pressure on you to hide your own pain to spare the rest of us."

She didn't say anything, but he knew that he'd hit the nail on the head by the way her shoulder hunched ever so slightly, as though trying to deflect his analysis.

"But none of that excuses me for not noticing it," he continued. "For not expecting it. I'm your friend, and the one person on the team who's most qualified to help you."

Her lips parted to protest, but he waved her off. "And before you tell me you don't need help, just let me point out that you didn't say what you did because it happened to come up in casual conversation."

She didn't bother to refute it, and he took it as a cue to continue. He did.

"For whatever reason, on some level you felt you needed to tell me. Whether it's because those thoughts frighten you, or you felt the need to prepare me, it doesn't matter. Because both scenarios still scare me."

A shadow of guilt flickered across her gaze and he put a hand on her shoulder. "I overreacted before, but I stand by what I said— I'm glad you told me."

He held her gaze, until her lips pressed into a barely-there smile that didn't come close to touching her eyes. Instinctively, his grip on her shoulder firmed reassuringly. After a moment more, he released her, bringing his hands back to his lap as they turned back to stare at the hills.

"You know," he said eventually, "a normal psychiatrist would have just listened. Hemmed and _hmm_ed and nodded like a bobble-head."

She exhaled a huff of air—almost a laugh.

"I think we've decided long ago that _normal_ is well outside the purview of your job description."

He mirrored the smirk playing at her lips for a split second, before he sobered once more.

"I won't accept these feelings you're having as normal, or understandable, Magnus. I won't. I can't. And I know," he continued, before she could interject, "that it might still come down to the fact that I'll have to continue your work without you. It's a possibility—maybe even a likelihood, at the rate we're going."

It was a thought he'd been having for a long time. Off and on in the first year, then flaring at certain events—like the death of Ashley, the beetle incident, Praxis… Nonstop for the past three days. And the idea of continuing on without Magnus made him sick to his stomach.

Indignation bubbled up too, joining the churning melee.

He was pissed that she would leave him to handle everything, after only three years of practice. It might have felt like a lifetime, but it certainly wasn't. And for her, it'd been barely a blip on the radar. _He_ had barely been a blip on the radar.

What was it about him that made it so easy for her to consider leaving? Hell, even Barney—the protégée dead from something cute, fluffy, and radioactive—had _decades_ with her before his fingernails had started falling off.

Didn't he get the same consideration?

But thinking she was selfish only reminded him how selfish he himself was being. It wasn't about him. It was about her. For once, it would be about her and her alone—not the Sanctuary, not the Abnormal world, not the planet.

Just her.

He had to make her see that death was not the way out of the dark spiral Ashley's death had thrown her life into.

Finally, he met her gaze, trapping her attention with more ease than he expected. She'd been watching him, he realized, while he sank into his own thoughts. A good sign, he thought.

"I've already killed you once, Magnus."

Their gaze held firm—he didn't blink, and neither did she.

"I'm not going to do it again." His head tilted, begging her to understand. "You hear me?"

Silence followed, but for the first time in days it wasn't awkward or tense. The warmth that stole over her eyes laced the quiet of the constant afternoon, and the discomfort between them evaporated.

He let the silence continue, because he sensed that his point, his plea, had hit home.

Their eyes turned back to the pastoral painted out in front of them, and for the first time in days he could breathe a little easier. He felt her shift where she sat, letting their shoulders brush as she made herself comfortable.

And if she ended up a little bit closer than she'd been a moment before, he wasn't about to complain.

Then, her hand sought his, her fingers interlacing with his. He curled his palm around hers in response, reflexively welcoming the warm touch. Together, their hands rested on his thigh, the contact reassuring and desperately needed—by both of them.

A moment later, her voice drifted gently across the periphery of his senses.

"_I hear_."

The shadow still lingered in her eyes when they went in for dinner, and Will knew it was far from being over. But he was reassured that _they_ were okay.

The rest would come later.


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay, I'll start—"

"Will, honestly, I do not see the point of this game."

Magnus' voice was light and easy, and Will responded in kind. "Come on, Magnus, it's simple. I offer you two names, and you have to choose which of those two people you would rather…"

His voice trailed off, when her brow arched expectantly.

"I would rather… what, exactly?" she queried, with decidedly false innocence.

"I don't know… go on a date with, watch the sunrise…" He rolled his eyes when a mischievous gleam sparked in Magnus' gaze. "Just—who you'd rather _do anything_ with. That's why it's called 'who would you rather'."

"Not exactly the most creative name—"

"You know what? Never mind."

They were clearing off a roof to make room for a new solar panel, chopping and hacking their way through a carpet of thick, creeping ivy vines with chipped hatchets. It was slow going, hence the attempt at a distracting, mindless game.

A wholly thwarted attempt.

But as soon as he was ready to let it go, Magnus appeased him with a grin. "No, no, go on," she prompted, gesturing to their laborious task. "It's not as though there is any other overwhelming stimulus up here."

Boy, was that the truth; though, Will wasn't sure if she was referring to their task in particular, or their present company. He darted a glance at Claude, who was still hacking away farther up the slope of the roof.

The local heartthrob had jumped at the chance to help them clear the roof—though Will figured the guy saw it as a chance to spend more time with Magnus. It was almost funny, given how they'd pegged him for an Ashley conquest—it seemed he held a torch for the elder Magnus.

Not hard to do, considering that Helen Magnus was unlike anyone the people in the dome had ever seen.

However, Will had yet to see Magnus reciprocate the subtle overtures, let alone notice them. With everything that had been happening the past few weeks, Will didn't think that was a bad thing.

A French Romeo was the last thing she needed to deal with.

"All right," he continued, regaining his train of thought. "Who would you rather: Kurt Cobain or Lenny Kravitz?"

Bizarre options, perhaps, but he'd been craving music. Not the fiddle and piano music the villagers scratched out sometimes, but _real_ music. It'd been all he could think about, lately.

"Really?" Magnus' surprise was audible.

Will sighed. "Yes, really. Just pick one, okay? Then someone else can have a turn."

But she remained suspiciously silent.

He slid a look her way, only to find her lips turned up in a mischievous, self-satisfied smile. He straightened instantly, incredulous. "Oh, don't tell me… you've already _rather_ed one of them?"

Not so much a question as a statement. There wasn't really any doubt in his mind, especially not with Magnus tilting her head like that, trying not to laugh. But still, she didn't say anything. Will read deeper into her delayed response, gaping.

"_Both_ of them?"

She threw a coquettish brow raise at him, smirking. "A lady doesn't kiss and tell, Will."

They both grinned, him dismayed and she completely too triumphant as she chuckled. Will could almost feel the air warm between them, reminding him of times spent on their rooftop.

But the moment was broken when Claude spoke up. "I have one."

Will turned to look at the younger man, then looked back to Magnus, only to find her at a similar loss when Claude looked to them expectantly.

"You said that someone else would get a turn, no?" Claude elaborated, his accented voice airy and light.

Will huffed a smile in comprehension, realizing the man wanted to continue the game. Magnus turned back to her work with grin, leaving her protégée to field the question. "Yeah, Claude… sure, go ahead."

"Doctor Magnus," Claude addressed. She _hmm_ed from where she worked, but didn't look up. Claude didn't mind. "Who would you prefer—myself, or Doctor Zimmerman?"

Will stood stupidly, taken aback by the inappropriate question. Had the man no sense of tact?

"Will."

He turned at the sound of his name, ready to run interference—only to realize a split second later that she hadn't called on him. She'd simply answered.

Her reply was light, sure, and completely without hesitation.

Claude was expectedly crestfallen, but the wink Magnus sent Will's way hinted that maybe she hadn't been so completely oblivious as he'd thought.

And she had just delivered a cold, cold shutdown.

But then again, Romeo had totally set himself up for it. French guys… sheesh.

Will bit back a smile of his own, and hurriedly tried to keep the game going. "All right, Magnus, your turn."

Anything, to keep Claude from sulking. Will glanced over his shoulder—oh, yeah, there he went. Claude yanked at the vines in front of him with renewed ferocity, his eyes dark. It was an amusing sight, and one that kept him from thinking too hard about the fact that Magnus would rather him, and not the handsome suitor.

"All right," she replied gamely, pausing to think. "Georgia O'Keeffe, or…"

God, if only he had a camera.

It wasn't often Magnus had to fish for something. Her eyes lifted skyward, slightly unfocused as she turned her attention to her memories, and she chewed her lower lip in thought. He could only imagine how many names she could choose from, whom she might have actually met herself.

"… Zora Neale Hurston," she finished finally.

Will considered it for a long moment, tugging on a stubborn rope of vine. "Hmmm… O'Keeffe, I think."

To his surprise, she chuckled a little. "That's certainly telling."

But the words were smiling, teasing light-heartedly. It was such a change from her usually drawn countenance that he couldn't find it in himself to be truly offended.

"Hey, come on, can't a guy catch a break—"

He was interrupted by a muttered French curse from up the roof, and he looked to see Claude tearing at the vines with sharp, vicious tugs, ripping them away from the stone-shingled roof. He wasn't looking to see where the vines were anchored, or which dozen other vines they were tangled in.

Will was about to let the man go at it—it was better than having to see the man pout—until he saw how close Magnus had drifted to the edge of the sloped roof. And in that split second, he saw the vine in Claude's hand, and traced its path as it snaked through the rug of foliage to where it terminated right under Magnus' boot.

One yank, and she'd go over.

"No!"

His shout came too late, and overlapped with Magnus' cry of alarm as the carpet of vines lifted beneath her, tipping her off balance. The next moment she was gone, and it was a heart-stopping moment of silence before he heard the sickening thud of her impacting the ground below.

"MAGNUS!"

Will was across the roof and sliding down the ladder before he'd even finished shouting. He skidded to his knees beside her, his hands shakily, frantically checking for a pulse. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until her eyes opened with a fluttering flash of blue.

His limbs melted like butter, and he sucked in a desperate lungful of air. "Jesus, Magnus, are you okay?"

His answer was a pained hiss as she sucked in a breath, already moving to prop herself up on her elbows. He put a hand on her shoulder, cautioning her. "Maybe you should stay still, Magnus, Claude's gone to get Ravi…"

It was a short second before the patter of boots on cobblestone told him that Claude had taken the hint and sprinted off in search of their friend. Ravi was a damn good doctor, and after India, Will trusted him. He would know if it was safe for Magnus to move.

But it seemed Magnus had her own opinion.

"I'm fine," she told him, pushing his hand away.

Will shook his head, the adrenaline surging through his veins refusing to let him concede the issue. "You just fell off a roof, Magnus, I don't think you should be moving. You could have hurt your spine—"

"Or my skull, yes I know that," she said, dismissing him. "I think my side caught the worst of it, and it wasn't that much of a fall, Will. I'm fine."

Will bit back a sigh. If she was being this stubborn, she couldn't be too hurt. "Just—let me check your head for bumps."

"Will—"

"Humor me, okay?" His exasperation and raw nerves must have seeped into his tone, because she acquiesced with a sigh, allowing him to run his fingers over the back of her head. When he didn't find any sign of trauma, he nodded in satisfaction.

"All right. No bumps, lumps, or soft spots. But if any show up later, I'm totally going to say I told you so."

"Yes, yes, you can rub it in all you like," she returned, unconcerned. "Just help me up."

Will grinned, and rose to help pull her to her feet. The transition to standing was smooth, but as soon as she was up, her features twisted into a grimace and she bowed slightly, her arm wrapping around her midsection.

"What's wrong?" he asked quickly, panic rising to the surface once more. "Here, sit down—"

"No," she countered, just as quickly. But the sharp edge to her voice was softened by the look in her eye. "It's just… I must have landed on a rock."

Instinctively, Will glanced down to look for the culprit, then rolled his eyes. The whole edge of the lane was strewn with rocks. Any one of them could have been under Magnus when she fell.

"Helen!" A new voice called out, and they looked up to see Ravi and his wife running to meet them, alarm written across both their features. Claude, Will saw, trailed behind, wisely not approaching too close.

Anna immediately moved to Magnus' side, her concern evident. But Will didn't move from his position at Magnus' shoulder, leaving the Frenchwoman to fend for herself. "Helen, are you all right?"

The two women had bonded over the past weeks, Will knew. He figured that it was Anna's age that had allowed Magnus to let her guard down slightly, when she'd refused to warm to any of the others. Anna had the wisdom of decades that most other villagers hadn't seen yet, and Magnus responded to it like a kindred spirit.

Where Will could interact well with Josie and some of her friends, Magnus kept herself distanced from the village's youth, instead choosing to remain a stranger to them. Isolating herself in the bunker's lab hadn't helped the matter any, either.

But Anna's affection for Magnus was tangible as she reached out a hand, instinctively moving to render care. Magnus intercepted it, gripping it reassuringly in her own and meeting the smaller woman's worried gaze.

"I'm fine, I promise you," she answered gently.

Anna tutted in response, as her husband spoke. "Claude told us what happened," Ravi said to Will, his eyes taking stock of Magnus' posture, which was still not quite right.

Will nodded. "Yeah," he agreed in a low voice. "She says she's fine, but I'm going to take her back to the house."

He knew Magnus heard him, and expected her to object, but when she didn't, he and Ravi shared a look. Her side must be hurting her more than she wanted to admit.

In the end, Ravi nodded in agreement. "I will get others to finish the clearing," he said, before turning to Magnus. "Please rest, Helen."

Her eyes warmed with silent gratitude, and she nodded. She paused to share a few more words of assurance with Anna, giving Will the time to turn back to Ravi.

"Hey," he murmured, leaning in close, so that Magnus wouldn't overhear. "Do me a favor, and remind Claude he's a jackass?"

Ravi's lips curled into a smile, his weathered eyes twinkling. "Have no fear, my friend. He'll get your message."

The older man's tone suggested Claude would get that, and then some.

"Thanks," Will returned with a nod. He pulled away, and then gently but firmly began to guide Magnus back in the direction of the house they shared. For once grateful that the village was small, Will found the walk to be a short one, and a few minutes later he was waved away at the foot of the stairs that led to their two bedrooms.

He hung back, watching as she ascended, and was content when she made it to the top without incident. He heard the bedroom door click behind her, before making his way to the kitchen. Pouring himself a tall glass of water, he took deep, even breaths. His heart pounded in his ears, and his lungs burned as if he'd been running a double marathon.

_God_. That hadn't happened in a while.

The water was blessedly cool against his throat, and between gulps he pressed the glass to his forehead. But inevitably, the time he gave himself to calm down allowed his mind wandering. As soon as his thoughts began to sink too deep, he shoved himself away from the counter.

Fixing a new glass with fresh water, he brought it upstairs with him. He tapped lightly at her door, and when he heard her call out a welcome, he pushed it open to find her sitting at the small dressing table in the corner. She turned to face him, and smiled bashfully when he waved the glass of water in her direction, his brow arched in silent question.

But she shook her head no. "I'm just going to sleep a bit," she said, her voice light.

He scoffed good-naturedly in response. "Wow. You must be really tired if you're willingly going to bed this early," he observed. "When was the last time you actually slept?"

When she didn't answer, he shot her a wry grin.

"That long, huh?"

"It's easier to get away with when the sun never sets," she delivered. It wasn't offered as an excuse—it was a simple statement of fact, one she clearly wasn't ashamed in admitting.

"Yeah," he agreed, making a mental note to keep better track of when Magnus came and went from the house. He'd been getting lax, between him warming to life in the dome and spending time with Josie. "This place is like an insomniac's playground."

He looked at her then, taking in just how tired she really did look. Pale skin, dark circles, heavy lids… Same as before. He'd thought she was doing better, but in this light—not so much. And it was his fault for not taking better care.

"You know," he said finally, "I thought you'd be zonked out already." Her gaze darted away, betraying her silence. He took a step closer. "What's up?"

He tried to keep it casual, but Magnus saw through it in a heartbeat. Her brow arched at him, but to his surprise, she answered him. "I cracked a rib or two."

"Oh, man. Magnus…" He set the water aside, moving even closer. "You want me to see if Ravi has anything?"

She shook her head. "Unnecessary. It's not nothing serious. Merely… uncomfortable."

So she'd already tried to get some sleep, but had been unable to because of it. And considering she looked dead on her feet… that wasn't a good thing. She needed to rest, and though she might try to tell him she'd be fine sitting in the hard-backed chair she was occupying right now, he knew better.

He hesitated, but then crossed to stand at her side. "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, she wordlessly lifted the hem of her borrowed shirt. Will lowered to a crouch, drawing himself eyelevel with an ugly, uneven dark red splotch of fresh bruising. He winced as he drew his fingers gently over the sore spot, and when he found it slightly swollen, but nothing to indicate the ribs were displaced, he issued a whistle of awe.

"I see what you mean." He paused. Then, he peered closer at it. "Wait a second… what's this writing here?"

"What?"

He could audibly hear her perk up, concerned and curious all at once.

"_Don't land on me…_" he read out slowly. He grinned. "Yep, it was definitely a rock."

She smacked his hand away, wearing a glare that inevitably morphed into a grin. "Cheeky monkey," she admonished, pulling her shirt back down.

He chuckled, getting to his feet as he did so. A moment of silence followed, as he considered the situation. Finally, he motioned her toward the bed.

"Go ahead and try lying down again," he prompted. Her head tilted, a tired protest on her lips, but he cut her off before she could get started. "I have an idea."

She hesitated, then gave an eye roll she almost hid with a blink. She stood, and moved to sit on the bed. Once there, she gave him another look, as if to check if he'd changed his mind, but he gestured for her to get comfortable. She gave another soft huff, and obliged him his whim.

His sharp eye noticed that about halfway down she slowed, obviously in pain. It eased slightly as she settled on her good side facing him, but her body remained stiff, radiating discomfort. Her breaths remained shallow, and she looked at him with the most deadpan _now what?_ arched brow she could muster.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, facing the headboard, so that he was even with her waist. Then, carefully, he reached over and gently pressed his hand against her side, a few inches up from where he knew the bruise to be. Magnus twitched at the contact, but when he pressed just a little bit harder, her features eased with relief.

She moaned ever so slightly, and Will grinned triumphantly. A moment later, blue eyes glared at him. "How did you know to do that?"

His eyebrows lifted in a facial shrug, unwilling to jostle his arm by letting his shoulder do the work. "Girlfriend in college was physio major. We went skiing one winter, and let's just say the trees on the slopes do not like me." That one earned him a small smile. "Better?"

She nodded. "Much."

He didn't need her response to tell him that. He could see it in the way her entire body had relaxed, and her breathing had deepened. The room was quiet for a long moment, and Will's thoughts started to wander. A moment later, he chuckled.

"What?" she asked, a note of self-consciousness in her voice. But it was the look of total bewilderment on her face that set him off. He tried to bite back a grin, his shoulders tense with swallowed laughter, but failed.

"You—" He started to laugh as soon as he spoke, and her brow furrowed at the dangling implication. He met her gaze, his chuckles amplifying to a solid laugh. "You just _fell_ off a _roof_."

She blinked, but a moment later the ridiculousness of the situation hit, and a broad smile shone back at him as her face lit up in with laughter. It started out as a bark of surprise, then, as her mind continued to process it, she let out a full belly laugh. It left her wincing, but each time she tried to calm down, another round of laughter would grip her, and she went off again and again.

It was contagious, and together, they laughed long and hard.

When, finally, she was breathless and gasping in pain, but still grinning madly, he wiped his eyes, even as he made sure his hand was pressed firmly once more against her side. _Jesus_. The roof. Who'd have thought she'd topple off the one danger she'd been able to name in this town—and as a complete and total accident.

But she was laughing about it. Barely two weeks ago she'd been entertaining the thought of ending her life—or had she? It was almost a blur, and all he could remember with any sort of clarity was that the thought of her being okay with dying had scared him to hell. But here she was, laughing.

She was a complete enigma to him, for all he counted her as his best friend.

"And how long are you going to continue this?" she asked, cutting into his thoughts. He blinked at her, and her gaze flickered to where his hand was providing relief, pressing on her side.

Switching modes, he shrugged. "As long as it takes."

"I can't ask you to stay like this for hours on end, Will."

His response to that was to smoothly lay himself down in front of her, keeping his hand in place as he stretched out and propped his head on his free fist. "Then it's a good thing you don't have to."

Blue eyes stared at him, and he gazed back unflinchingly. When he didn't renege, her features softened almost imperceptibly. But he saw it.

Her hand brushed against his arm stretched between them, squeezing it gently.

"Thank you," she murmured softly.

He nodded, and she relaxed even further. Moments later, the combination of her exhaustion and his temporary remedy had her drowsing off to sleep, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

As he stared at her— human and bare-faced in rare moment of vulnerability—he could only wonder how she hadn't realized yet that he didn't need thanks.

He needed only _this_. This connection that kept him grounded, rooted in sensible reality and sure that they'd be all right. This trust that he had in her to get them home, and this trust she had in him to let herself be taken care of.

But he supposed she didn't want to take him for granted; she wasn't one to cross that line first.

Maybe, one day, he'd get around to telling her that, as far as he was concerned, they'd crossed that line years ago.


	4. Chapter 4

He woke up several hours—well, he didn't know how many hours had passed, since the sun was in the same spot it had been for weeks. But a few moments later he discovered what had woken him. There were footsteps on the stair, and then a moment later, he saw a figure pass the open door.

On its way past, it paused, and looked in the room. It was Josie.

It must be time to walk the perimeter—or it was dinner time. Either way, he knew she had come looking for him, and it wasn't just the expectant look in her eye. Ravi wouldn't have sent her to collect Magnus, even if it was meal time. He would know better than to wake Magnus when she so clearly needed rest.

Glancing at the woman in question, Will saw that she was indeed asleep. She'd barely moved since dozing off; she was still on her side, still facing him. But her hand was curled over his elbow, now that his wrist was now pillowing his head, and her legs were curled up.

His hand was still on her side, but though the pressure he'd been applying had slackened when he drifted off, she was still dead to the world, peaceful and serene.

He looked back to Josie, whose eyebrows lifted suggestively. Clearly, she expected him to play and be free while Magnus was out. Literally—like a light. In that moment, Will realized how much he'd cited Magnus as a reason against having any real fun. Sure, they did the perimeter tests and shared meals, but more than once he'd declined her offers to spend more one-on-one time together because Magnus needed help in the lab.

Especially in the last week or so. He'd tried to give Magnus her space, but he'd be lying if his thoughts hadn't been focused on her, rather than the pretty girl who'd made no secret of her feelings for him. Yes, Abby lingered on the edge of his mind, but Magnus was in the forefront.

And now he was faced with a choice.

Magnus wouldn't blame him for getting up to go with Josie. And clearly, Josie wanted him to join her. But even so… it wasn't much of a choice. He glanced at Magnus, and looked at Josie.

Then, slowly—deliberately— he shook his head no, careful not make any movement big enough to jostle the mattress or pillows. He held Josie's gaze long enough to see her eyes dart to where his hand rested on Magnus' side. No doubt, she saw only that his hand was closer to her breasts than could be considered strictly professional, and hadn't heard that she was at all injured.

He didn't care.

When her shoulders slumped with disappointment, he lowered his head back onto his arm, settling back to continue his nap. He didn't relax though, until he heard Josie leave. She was markedly less quiet than she'd been coming in, but still Magnus barely stirred. While her breath hitched ever so slightly, it morphed into a sigh that did nothing more than rustle the bangs hanging over her eyes.

Slowly, sleep stole over him again, and all thoughts of Josie drifted away.

The next time he woke up, it was because the body under his hand was moving. His eyes opened just in time to see Magnus blearily blink herself awake. The process was gradual, and it was a heavy moment before she realized just who it was that she was staring at.

She did a visible double take, her eyes widening with blurry surprise before she remembered why he was there. Then, her hand reached to touch the sore spot on her ribs, only to pause when she ran into his hand, still resting lightly on her side.

Her lips pulled into a small smile, as she realized he really had stayed. She gently gave him his hand back, patting him fondly on the wrist before running a hand over her eyes.

"How long have we been here?" she groaned, half yawning.

He checked his wrists, both bare of a watch, then showed them to her with a shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine." He eyed her carefully. "How you feeling?"

"Sore," came the succinct response. "I suspect I will be for a few days yet."

"Here, you want me to…?" He motioned to her side. When she shrugged indifferently—still mellow from sleep, it seemed—he sat up and checked the bruise. He winced as soon as he lifted the shirt. "Yeah, you're gonna be sore for a while. It's already purpling… it's a nasty one, all right. Yeesh."

"_Yeesh_," she mimicked drily. "How very clinical of you."

He arched a brow at her. "And aren't you pithy for someone who just woke up?"

Blue eyes rolled lazily at him. "Perhaps if there was decent cup of tea in this bloody village…"

Her voice trailed off when she saw his startled glance, clearly shocked by the sudden bitterness in her voice. Her cheeks colored slightly. "Sorry," she amended softly.

Will raised his hands up, voiding any guilt she may be feeling. "Hey, I've seen you grumpy before. This is nothing." He grinned. "And to be honest, it's a bit refreshing."

She huffed lightly, but smiled sheepishly. "It's just… waking up just now, I thought I was home."

He nodded in understanding. He'd had more than a few mornings where the same had happened to him. Sometimes, those brief moments where he thought he was in his bed in the Sanctuary were the highlight of his day.

The problem came when the truth sank back in. She wasn't home. Neither was he. They were both still stuck here, under a time dome. It was a bitter reality check, one made particularly rough by the fact she was sleepy and less alert than usual.

Yeah, he'd be crabby too.

"Well, we could probably get a few hours in down at the lab, if you wanted…"

The thought of spending any amount of time underground right now nauseated him, but if she went, so would he. He'd already made that particular bed, having brushed Josie off.

But to his surprise, Magnus rolled onto her back—almost flopped, really, if not for her customary poise and movements made ginger by injury. The real shocker was the pout on her lips.

"No… I'm not going today," she said softly. "I hate that damn bunker."

Will blinked—he hadn't expected that particular response. But a moment later, he fell back down to the mattress next to her. He too, stared at the ceiling, cracked and weathered as it was.

"Works for me," he delivered lightly, giving a sigh as he let his body relax against the lumpy mattress. A beat passed, and then he rolled his head towards Magnus, shooting a blank, open look her way. "So, no working… what else is there to do in this town?"

She smirked, not taking her gaze from the ceiling above. "You'd know better than I."

He lifted his brows in agreement. "True." He grinned. "That's not saying much though." A beat of silence passed, but soon Will decided there'd been enough of that lately.

"Why do you hate the bunker?"

Crap. He wasn't going to ask that. But damn, if his mind didn't latch on to the nuances she let slip. She'd said _hate_. Rarely did she choose such a volatile word, and he'd been instantly intrigued.

Sure, he'd meant to ease into it, but…

Oh well.

"It's not just the lab," she conceded. "This whole town…"

Her voice trailed off, no doubt hoping that he would fill in the blanks for himself. Unfortunately, he couldn't. Not this time.

"I haven't read the reports from the last time you were here, so I really have no idea what you mean by that," he said gently. He'd tried to get copies downloaded onto a tablet so he could get caught up on the flight over, but there hadn't been enough time.

She sighed. "This place holds nothing more for me than death and bad memories."

He closed his eyes, guilt washing over him. He should've known better. Of course it was full of bad memories. She was here in World War II, on the eve of the Normandy invasion. Did he think it was going to be all sunshine and daisies?

"Magnus, I'm—"

"For God's sake, don't apologize, Will," she returned sharply. "I might as well have opened this line of questioning myself when I said what I did, and you bloody well know it."

The harsh admonishment stung, and he turned his attention back to the ceiling. He closed his mouth, locking his jaw against any other questions that might think about escaping. But, in the end, it turned out he didn't need to ask any more questions.

"The blood stain," she said softly. "On the floor of the bunker. I know you've seen it."

He had. In fact, he'd wondered more than once how it had gotten there. He'd hoped that it had been the blood of some French scientist who had sliced his hand open on a motherboard, but somehow he' knew it wasn't. He only prayed that the blood wasn't hers.

"Yeah?" he prompted, trying to sound neither too eager nor too blasé.

She took a deep, silent breath. "It's John's."

_Oh, thank god. _

"He was shot before my very eyes," she continued, her voice suddenly raspy. "And I was concerned for him. Worried." He turned his head just in time to see her eyes close against the memories. "Even then, after everything he'd done—despite the fact he wore Nazi garb and by all appearances was one of them…" She swallowed thickly. "I cared."

"You still do."

Her head turned towards him, finally meeting his gaze with wide, vulnerable eyes. She was wary of the judgment she felt coming, but she should have known better.

It wasn't his job, or his place, to judge.

"You can't help who you love, Magnus. It doesn't work that way."

She barked out a mirthless laugh, turning her line of sight back to the ceiling. "You sound rather well-versed in star-crossed love."

"No," he disagreed, "not really. But you know— he's the Ripper, he's been a Nazi, kidnapped your daughter to feed her to a giant lizard…"

The last was said with a grin, and even she cracked a small smile. Because even though it had scared the crap out of all of them when it happened—of all the things in his repertoire, it was the most absurd-sounding.

"But at the end of the day, regardless of what either of you have done, the fact remains that he still loves you. And you still love him."

She eyed him, her brow arching as she waited to see exactly where he was going with his train of thought. He shrugged, knowing that what came next wouldn't even come close to being as eloquent or profound as she was probably expecting.

"What you guys have…" Will paused, wondering if he really wanted to say it. As long as they were being honest… "I can only hope I find something half as powerful as that for myself."

When he saw her blink, taken aback by his words, he realized maybe it was more profound than he'd anticipated. It certainly wasn't eloquent, but it must have struck a chord in her. A moment later, her gaze warmed, and when she smiled it wasn't wry or admonishing.

It was honest, appreciative—but even so he couldn't help but notice that she still looked exhausted. Not physically; the long nap had taken care of that. But she was weary.

"Do you think you might have found it with Abby?"

Her question came gentle, warm, and quiet enough to know she was aware the topic could be sensitive. And it was, especially when he was so acutely aware of the growing issue with Josie. But he'd started this conversation, and if she was still in, so was he.

He shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, you'd think she would be— She's cute, and patient, and… _perfect_."

A beat passed, and he shrugged. "I don't know… I can't put my finger on it. Maybe I'm just too used to working with the criminally insane and the megalomaniacs of the world, but—It's just that she's perfect for me. Almost too perfect, you know? She's emotionally open, bubbly, amicable, happy but I just can't help but feel like it's all hiding something. Like she's trying to distract me with all the superficial stuff…

"But at the same time I can't for the life of me figure out what it could be. And then I feel like a horrible person, for looking for the flaws when she's been nothing but patient and understanding…"

"Are you worried she won't be understanding of the situation we have here?" she asked. "The idea of time-dilation is difficult for anyone to wrap their heads around."

He shook his head. "That's just it—she would be. She'll know I had no control over it, and let's face it, she may not even believe me, considering only an hour or so has passed out there. I'm sure it won't rattle her a bit." He sighed. "And there's something else… She's been talking long term, lately."

"Ah."

The little huff of comprehension was only a tad condescending, but her gaze remained as neutral as his had been when she'd mentioned Druitt. "Cold feet then, perhaps?"

He shook his head. "No. But she wants normal, Magnus."

His hand rubbed his face, as though to dispel the growing burden of expectation that had been slowly settling over his shoulders for the past few months.

"She wants one-point-five kids and a white picket fence and the house on a hill with blue shutters. And lord knows I want her to have that—that _I _want to have that—but…"

He trailed off, unable to put it in words. A moment later, warm fingers reached out and curled around his hand.

"You know that your employment with the Network does not preclude you from having a normal life, Will," she told him softly. "It can, but only if you let it."

"What do you mean?"

"If—" Her voice seemed to catch, but she continued on so smoothly he wasn't sure he heard it. "If you wish to leave the Sanctuary… I won't stop you."

Looking at her, with her hair tousled from sleep and her eyes weary, he knew she was telling the truth. If they got out of the dome tomorrow and he told her he wanted to go back to the FBI or start a private practice, she would let him go. But underneath it all, he could see the undercurrent of trepidation—the fear that he might actually take her up on the offer.

His hand curled around hers, bringing their hands palm to palm in a clasp of reassurance, and he smiled. "There's no way in hell I'd give up the Sanctuary," he told her, eliciting a tiny, nervous grin. "Heck, I don't think I could, even if I wanted to."

Her thumb traced soft circles against his. "Good," she said softly, her relief evident. "I'm glad."

Those two words had never been so welcome. So simple, and yet so powerful. He knew she appreciated his presence, valued his work and his skills… But hearing the affirmation was a greater relief than it thought it would be. It sent shivers down his spine.

A moment later, their heads turned, and their gazes met once more. Her lips quirked into a sheepish grin, which— with her rumpled hair and sleep-creased outfit— was incredibly endearing, and the gesture cemented his decision to stay.

There was no way could he leave, not when the Magnus-mystery was just starting to unfold, little by little, to let him see the woman beneath the cool, public mask.

Not even at the prospect of a normal relationship with an amazingly normal girl.

Besides, _normal_ was overrated anyway.

Silence descended, warm and comfortable in the late afternoon sun. Will turned his focus to his thoughts, to the doubts that had been plaguing him for months. That Abby might try to pull him away from the Sanctuary—that he might have to choose between the life he loved and the one he wanted. The prospect chilled him to the bone, because... well...

How could he know that there would be someone else so willing to accept the craziness of his work?

Sometimes, he felt like Damocles, with the sword poised over his head, ready to cleave him in two at the slightest misstep. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't.

He took a breath to speak, but Magnus beat him to the punch.

"I'm in love with a man I don't think I could ever be happy with," she confessed, her tone heavy.

No doubt she had been trying to avoid the truth—but it was obvious she had been thinking about it for some time. Too long.

Will took a deep breath.

"I'm afraid I might be looking for monsters because I don't know what to do with a good thing even if it hits me in the face."

His own confession hung in the air, answered only by a squeeze from the hand around his. Neither of them said anything more, having said what they needed to. Will couldn't say he necessarily felt better… And he doubted Magnus did. But there was a sort of relief in uttering the words aloud. Because at least then they each had someone to tell them they weren't as crazy as they felt they might be.

At very least, they'd found a benefit to being inside a time dome.

They'd have all the time in the world to convince each other they'd be all right.


End file.
